


From Pain, Awakening

by digitaldreams



Series: Digital's Ikesoren Week Drabbles [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Soen no Kiseki/Akatsuki no Megami | Fire Emblem Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Childhood, IkeSoren Week, IkeSoren Week 2021, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, No Dialogue, Pre-Slash, not beta read we die like greil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 17:34:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28567779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/digitaldreams/pseuds/digitaldreams
Summary: Soren was used to his own suffering after enduring it for years, but light found him in an unexpected place: cerulean eyes and the promise of kindness.
Relationships: Ike/Senerio | Soren
Series: Digital's Ikesoren Week Drabbles [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2093163
Comments: 6
Kudos: 16
Collections: IkeSoren Week 2021





	From Pain, Awakening

For a long time, all Soren knew was pain. 

It came from too many sources for him to count, and he faced it all with the terrified eyes that came with a young child not understanding why the world hurt so much in the first place. He was fragile and innocent, his spirit so effortlessly shattered by the universe around him. There was nothing for him to understand but the quiet agony that stirred inside his broken soul, and he allowed a glassy gaze and unexpected whispers on the wind to carry him away from the ache that thrived within. 

Pain could be found in the endless wails of the woman who never wanted to associate with him in the first place. Soren had been young and nameless in those days, and he always watched her with doe-eyed confusion as to why she detested him to such an extent. He never said a word to her unless he had to, and all of his speech was learned from the words of hatred that she launched in his direction. Soren had learned his place well by the time that she found another home for him, and he knew better than to question the hand that the world had dealt him. 

She hadn’t hesitated to pass him away to the old sage who believed that he had struck gold in the existence of the red marking that rested atop Soren’s forehead. This exchange brought pain with it as well, and the only home that Soren had ever known, regardless of if it truly felt welcoming or not, was torn away from him without any questions asked. It was a business transaction, plain and simple; goods did not have an opinion on who they were sold to, and neither did Soren. 

The training had been difficult, and Soren, once a nameless child with no title beyond the source of the woman’s woes, was given the bundle of letters that he would follow for the rest of his life. The sage needed a way to refer to him, and Soren accepted it as a step above the wretch that the woman claimed he was. He thought, in all of his fragile youth and naivete, that perhaps this would bring peace to his life. If he had escaped the woman, he would be able to press on through anything that the world sent his way. 

He didn’t realize how wrong he was until it was too late. The only words that Soren whispered were in the old tongue, phrases that the sage instructed him in until his dying breath. Soren had no way of communicating on his own, and only the letters of Serenes filled his eyes and ears. That was all he was good for, after all. He was a human record, a file for the talents of a sage who wanted to pass on everything before the end of his life. 

Soren could still remember the first sting of pain that came from the sage, the slap that met his cheek after he misfired a thunder spell that made a nearby tree collapse.  _ Do it again, _ had been the instruction, and Soren nodded, trying to swallow back his tears. Safety was still a distant wish for him, and he was starting to believe that he would never find it. 

The sage’s death brought with it a new type of weary-filled exhaustion, and Soren was left to shuffle through the trees of Gallia, too young and frail for such extended travel. He had hoped that perhaps the laguz of the nearby villages would be willing to give him even a small amount of kindness, and this optimism kept him going through sprained ankles, tangles in his hair, and the remembered pain of being hurt by those who were meant to defend him. 

Soren’s arrival at the first village showed him the full power of mindless hatred. He could still remember the sting of the first sharp rock that was thrown in his direction by a tiger laguz who glared at him with an almost unchained sheen to his eyes. Other agony followed, and then Soren was running, heart pounding against his chest as sobs wracked his small lungs. Everything hurt, and all he could think about was how he almost missed the woman and sage. At least they hadn’t left him to starve, as low of a bar that was. 

The cycle continued, and Soren grew used to the sensation of rocks on pale skin. He was littered with bruises after the first few towns, and with each new village that he saw, his skin grew darker under the influence of his injuries. For every injury that healed, three others took its place. It was a miracle that he hadn’t broken a bone. 

There was only so long that he could press on without food though, and when he collapsed against the roots of an old tree after the eighth Gallian village, Soren didn’t bother rising to his feet once more. He couldn’t speak and had nothing to eat, and he had resigned himself to his fate when a shadow appeared over his body. 

It was a boy with blue hair and a curiously sympathetic gaze. He took a step closer to Soren, but the black-haired boy scurried back. The newcomer spoke with him briefly, but Soren never responded, unable to remember how to form the words necessary to reply. His eyes remained a reflection of fear until after the boy offered him with some food. By some miracle, Soren had managed to escape the jaws of death once again, and it was all thanks to this peculiar boy. 

Soren waited for the boy with blue hair to return, but he never did. His spirit had been reborn after enduring years of endless agony, and he finally felt as if he had a reason to press on and keep fighting. He was going to survive, even if it was only for the sake of the boy with the blue hair. For years afterward, the image of the boy with blue hair never left his mind. 

It was in kind sapphire eyes and an outstretched hand that Soren had found light after all he had suffered through, and he would cherish such a memory for the rest of his life. 

**Author's Note:**

> Ikesoren Week! I'm doing it!
> 
> I wasn't planning on participating in this event, but it snuck up on me, so I just shrugged and said 'why not?' And so here we are. As I usually do with fandom events like ship weeks and big bangs, I'm doing the ~ writing style experimentation ~ thing with this piece, and the same will apply to the other six pieces I'll be writing throughout the week. Woohoo! 
> 
> Fun fact for the attentive Tellius player: the title of this piece comes from the endgame of part three in Radiant Dawn. It's such a good title, and since it fit so well, I simply had to reference it here. 
> 
> Lastly, I swear that I had this piece finished on time. I know that it's kind of late, but AO3 went down for four hours conveniently at the exact same time that I was going to post this story. At the very least, here it is now, and I hopefully won't have problems getting pieces out on time for the rest of the week. At least this wasn't my fault. 
> 
> With all of that said, I hope you enjoyed! I'll see you again throughout the week for my other pieces!
> 
> -Digital


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